


Bookshelves and bedposts

by Renamidala



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Forgive Me, IM FUCKED UP, M/M, Sad, This is really sad, why did I do this to my sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:37:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renamidala/pseuds/Renamidala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU! With terminally ill Loki.<br/>Really guys this is really sad. Sort of happy ending. There will be physical pain reading this so I've been told by my friend who read it before posting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

March Third  
Steve smoothed the crisp white sheets over the bed, folding up the corners, tucking them securely underneath the heavy mattress. The comforter was next, plain black, taken from their bed that wasn't really theirs anymore to try and create a disillusioned feeling of home. The blankets, folded carefully over the edges of the bed. Pillows in their cases, clean and white and smelling like Spring that had been stuffed in a can for too long.  
He could feel Loki watching him as he worked, but he ignored the other boy and finished tidying the small room. Magazines piled on the bed stand. Video games carefully sorted away in their drawer. IV pressed against the wall, out of the way.  
"You keep this up much longer, the staff is gonna hire you on the spot. And trust me. Cleanin' bedpans isn't the future you want for yourself."  
Steve turned to raise an eyebrow at Loki, who was lounging comfortably in a chair by the window. "Might actually be nice. Then I wouldn't have to commute every day," he said with a dry grin and then turned around to inspect the room once more. It passed muster. Barely.  
He heard Loki shift in his chair and Steve sighed. "You're not going to try and stand again, are you?"  
"I can stand," Loki snapped, his voice no longer amused. "I can run a fuckin' marathon if those damn nurses would just let me walk around for a bit like they used to."  
Steve ran a hand over his hair in silent frustration. "You've barely been here a week and you've already traumatized half the staff. I don't think you want another collapsing episode to exacerbate things."  
Loki muttered something inaudible as Steve moved to dust the small bookshelf he'd missed. Satisfied after only a few swipes at the shelves with his dust rag, he turned around, mouth open to ask Loki if he was ever planning on getting rid of his comic collection, but then he froze, a horrified expression on his face.  
"What the hell are you doing?!"  
Loki glared up at Steve and took another shaky step forward, then another until he managed to collapse in his bed, breathing heavily, face bright with triumph. He twisted his head to sneer at his brother. "Movin' to my bed. You got a problem with that?"  
"As a matter of fact I do," Steve snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "The doctor said the treatments would make your bones brittle-and they were already weak enough as it was. Any stress on them and you could-"  
He was cut off by the sound of Loki's derisive laughter and he frowned, blue eyes narrowing with disconcert.  
Loki finally got himself under control and moved a bit to bury under the covers, giving a small sigh of contentment. "You think I didn't hear the good doctor's speech?" he drawled, falling backwards to let his head rest against the mountain of pillows. "Stop frettin', even it if it what you do best. I drink my milk every day like a good boy. My bones are fuckin' concrete."  
Steve rolled his eyes and moved his chair back to its customary position next to the bed. He picked up his book and leafed through it, making Loki groan with thinly veiled horror.  
"Not the damn book again." The boy looked up at Steve with a pleading expression on his face. "I thought you said we could move on to Kipling?"  
"You're the one who insisted on Melville, not me," Steve deadpanned. "It's hardly my fault the novel fails to meet your outrageous expectations."  
"Yeah. Sue me for wantin' a whale hunt that's actually exicitin'," Loki muttered.  
Steve gave a quiet cough to clear his throat as he picked up where they had left off, Loki interjecting rather colorful comments every now and then about giant white whales swallowing tons of seamen.  
As the clock's hands ticked relentlessly onward, Loki's comments became few and far between, and Steve's voice grew dull and tired. Then came the tell tale knock on the door, and Loki looked at his lover with a wry expression on his face.  
"My executioner's here. So punctual."  
Steve sighed and put the book away. "I'm sure she doesn't appreciate being called that," he muttered, just as the nurse stuck her head through the door and chirped, "Herr Loki. It's time for your sessions. Your friend needs to go home now, so say goodbye."  
"Don't talk to me like I'm fuckin' five," Loki snarled instantly, fisting his hands in the comforter, his face growing even more murderous when the nurse just smiled politely back at him before leaving the room. He picked up the water glass on his nightstand and cocked his arm back to hurl it against the door when Steve quickly moved to wrestle the glass away. It wasn't a long battle.  
Loki collapsed backwards on the bed, panting heavily but still managing to glower up at him. "As soon… as I get outta… this damn room… I am goin'… to eviscerate that bitch," he growled as best he could. Steve brushed sweaty dark bangs out of his eyes and gave an indulgent sigh. "Of course. Will the evisceration be before or after you replace her blood with pure oxygen and light a fire in the room like you threatened to before? These details need to be thought through."  
Steve got the laugh he was looking for, although it was weak and broken sounding as Loki smiled up at him and reached out with a slightly unsteady hand to jab him in the chest. "That's my Soldier… always helpin' me keep my priorities in order."  
Steve caught his hand in his own and quickly looked behind him to make sure the door was shut before leaning down and brushing his lips against Loki's. He heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps approaching down the hall and he sighed as he attempted to pull away. But Loki had some reserve of strength left in him and pulled him down for a much more involved kiss, and Steve could feel his boyfriend chuckle just before his tongue darted out to swipe against his lower lip. He made a quiet noise of protest as the footsteps stopped just outside the door and managed to growl out a warning, "Loki…" before the handle turned with a dull squeaking noise. Loki quickly pushed his "friend" away, a satiated grin on his face as he mouthed a quiet, "Later". He winked at Steve, who in turn tried to pick himself up off the floor with as much dignity as he could muster before the doctor came into the room, white lab coat billowing behind him.  
"Visiting hours are over," the doctor said absently, picking up Loki's chart and giving it a casual once-over. "I'll have to ask that you please leave."  
"Of course," Steve said quietly, the familiar leaden feeling returning to his stomach as he faced returning again to an empty house. But the quiet look of distress on Loki's face made him ignore his own petty problems as he walked forward to the bed and pulled him into a more traditional embrace. "I'll be back tomorrow," he said quietly, discretely pressing his lips against his soft hair. Just like always.  
"You better be." Loki's usual deadened reply.  
Steve reluctantly pulled away and gathered up his things, throwing his back over his shoulder as he headed for the door. He gave Loki one last, smile, trying to put everything he couldn't bring himself to say into the gesture, before saying quietly, "Be brave."  
Loki looked back at him, his own rakish grin not quite reaching his eyes as he made a shooing motion with his hand. "Get out of here already. I'll see you tomorrow."  
Then the doctor drew the curtain around Loki's bed, and Steve walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing hollowly against the plaster walls, heading back to their empty house.  
March 31  
The warm air floating through the open window was driving Loki mad. He'd been propped up in bed like a goddamn ragdoll by Becker, the ugliest and most foul smelling of all the orderlies that worked in the hospice, and been told to 'stay put'. Loki had thrown as much of a tantrum as he'd been able to before he ran out of steam and collapsed backwards on his pillows, a light sheen of cold sweat on his face.  
But he could see outside the window and into the garden. And there were green things there that didn't smell like antiseptic and wind that didn't come from an air conditioner and he'd always hated the outdoors until he was banished from them. Loki's foot gave one of those odd, painless twitches like it did sometimes as he forced himself to stare at the clock instead of the open window as the long hand dragged on.  
Two minutes left.  
Nurse Maher came in with his afternoon meds and he didn't even bother fighting them anymore he was so damn thankful to have that stupid IV out of his hand. But then it was four and Loki could hear the steady clunk of shoes on the floor and he ordered her out. He forgot about the dull pain on his forehead from where the good Nurse had flicked one painted nail against his skin in non-suing-pseudo-friendly retaliation as the door handle turned. Loki quickly looked around and straightened everything up as best he could, glancing at his reflection in the mirror on his bedside table and giving himself a good once-over to make sure he didn't look like death warmed up.  
The door clicked open, and Loki could hear Steve exchanging pleasantries with Maher and a surge of irrational anger flooded his system as the nurse kept preoccupying Steve when she knew damn well they only got two hours a day. She left a moment later though, and the color came back to his vision as his boyfriend entered the room like he did every day. Hesitant but focused, his bag carefully placed next to his chair before he sat down and gave Loki a very disapproving frown.  
"…You know we can't afford a harassment lawsuit."  
Loki just smirked. "Couldn't help it. Maher said 'I need you'. I thought she was flirting. What other options did I have?"  
"Maybe wait for her to finish her sentence?" Steve suggested dryly. "As in, 'I need you to hold still before I shove his pen cartridge sized needle in your arm or else blood will splurt everywhere and make a horrible mess'?"  
Loki hummed in thought. "I don't really like that word. Splurt. All kinds of gross bodily fluid implications."  
Steve spluttered for a bit before he seemed to get himself under control. "Focus, Loki," the blonde growled, his face still tinged a light pink. "The nurse. No more cursing. I'm serious this time."  
"But I'm bored," Loki whined. "And you're only here two hours a day. And the damn television buzzes and gives me a headache."  
Steve fell quiet at that, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. "I… I'm sor-"  
"If you apologize, I'm goin' to make you buy me somethin' shiny and explosive," Loki threatened. "You're here every day, babe. And you keep arguin' with the staff to let you stay longer. You just suck at debatin' is all. Don't beat yourself up about it. It's enough." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the wall behind him as he drawled, "Markus's wife has come to see him once. Once, and the guy's been here five fuckin' weeks."  
Steve visibly winced. "Poor man. What's his condition?"  
"Guy's got a non-malignant tumor on his dick," Loki snickered. "Probably why the misses hasn't been around."  
"Don't joke about that," Steve said automatically. "He's here, isn't he? His condition must be rather serious."  
Like yours.  
The words were there, unspoken but audible.  
Loki did his best to ignore them as he muttered, "Yeah, well… the nurses fawn all over him. Probably consider him a non-threat now. Feel sorry for him since his wife has obviously lost interest."  
Steve chuckled weakly. "That a hint of jealousy I detect in your voice?"  
"Hell no." Loki's green eyes flickered to the side to catch his boyfriend's blue ones as he grinned. "I've got the better deal."  
For a while there was just the ticking of the clock, the steady hum of distant machinery, the rustling spring breeze that was so out of place, and Steve's quiet smile.  
Loki broke the static. "I want to go outside."  
Steve's smile twisted slightly into a frown. "I… I don't know," he said hesitantly. "The doctor didn't seem to think it would be a good idea…"  
"C'mon, babe," Loki cajoled. "I promise I'll even let myself be wheeled out in one of those goddamn chairs. I just… Can't you feel that? The breeze?"  
Steve seemed to be warring with himself, his blonde eyebrows knit in thought before he gave a heavy sigh and rose to his feet, muttering, "I'm risking Maher's wrath. You know that, right?"  
Loki just beamed up at his lover. "Don't let her rack dissuade you!" he called after Steve's retreating back. "Be firm, Captain! Firm yet supple!" He could practically hear the blonde flushing even from his stationary position, but lo and behold, a few minutes later Steve returned with one of those damn wheelchairs that Loki tried very, very hard to be happy to see. But outside. Outside was good.  
He swatted away Steve's hand as he tried to help him into the chair, grumbling, "I'm not a damn invalid."  
Steve snorted but backed off. "I beg to differ," he mumbled, but his blue eyes were shining with some stupid sort of happiness as Loki managed to pry himself up and collapse into the chair with a sigh of relief. The boy pointed to the door with one bony finger, and barked out, "Mush! To the gardens!"  
He heard Steve sigh behind him, but the blonde obliged and began pushing him out the room and into the hall. Loki took the time to flick off the orderly as he zoomed by at the breakneck speed of two steps a second, but Steve's immense build and scary, scowling face must have gotten through to even Becker's single-cell organism brain, because the huge mass of fat just stood there and glowered. Loki cackled to himself and felt Steve poke him in the shoulder.  
"What was that all about?" Steve murmured. "Not the smartest thing in the world to flip the bird to someone who looks like he weighs as much as a Mack truck."  
"He manhandles me," Loki sniffed, foot tapping against the rest as Steve pulled the chair to a stop to wait for the door to open automatically for them. "And I heard him say to the other orderlies that I reminded him of Voldemort. I took offense."  
"…Voldemort?" Steve's voice was mired in confusion as he continued pushing the chair again, but then they were outside and Loki tilted his head back, ignoring anything and everything except for the feeling of the sun on his face, making his bones feel like they were going to jump out of his body like exploding popcorn, his skin tingling from the weak rays.  
He barely noticed they'd stopped next to a bench, or that Steve was sitting next to him and saying something. The breeze buffeted his hair about, tugging on the thinning strands like a caress, and Loki moved to slide out of the wheelchair, landing on the soft grass with a quiet 'oof'. Steve made a small, muted noise of alarm, and in a moment the sun's warmth was blocked by a heavy arm around his shoulders, and the blue in his vision was not longer the robin's egg color of the sky, but icy and concerned.  
Loki gently pushed his boyfriend away, leaning backwards against the bench and stretching out his legs in front of him, bare toes wiggling against the plush grass. "'m fine…" he murmured absently, gesturing for Steve to sit next to him, green eyes drinking in as much of the simple garden scenery as he could.  
"Falling off a wheelchair doesn't normally constitute 'fine'," he heard Steve mutter, but Loki just gave him a reassuring pat on the knee before tuning him out again. They sat in easy silence, shoulders and knees knocking together, shadows moving slowly across the grass as the sun dragged across the sky.  
"… It's six o'clock."  
Steve just sighed. "I know. Maher's been staring at us through the window for the past half an hour."  
"…I'm missin' my sessions." Loki let his head rest against his boyfriend's shoulder, the thin t-shirt suddenly not enough to combat the encroaching chill of dusk.  
"It's Thursday. Check up day," Steve murmured as he surreptitiously shifted his arm to wrap around Loki's waist. "I deem you perfectly fine. Done."  
Loki chuckled lowly at that, his eyes sliding shut. "Wish that were the prognostic I got every day… then I could go home…"  
The silence suddenly became heavy, but then a loud tapping against the inside of the closest window of the hospice made Loki jump slightly. He looked up to see Maher glaring at him through the glass, pointing at her watch with a delicate, manicured finger. He smirked back at her and just pressed himself more against Steve. She glared back but then held up her hand, mouthing, 'five minutes' before she vanished from the window.  
Loki's expression faltered once she left, and he sighed quietly. "I think we've just been given an ultimatum."  
Steve's arm tightened slightly, his voice subdued. "By whom?"  
"America's Next Top Model."  
Steve chuckled throatily, and Loki could feel the noise reverberate against his side, making his ribs ache.  
"…So I suppose we should-"  
"Don't want you to-"  
They both fell silent, and there was just the breeze, no longer warmed by the high sun, and Loki forced his voice to be light.  
"I'll… I'll see you tomorrow, then."  
It wasn't a question. But Steve answered without a moment's hesitation.  
"Of course."  
The wheelchair felt like a prison as it returned him to his room. The bed like an operating table. Sheets scratchy with bleach and new. And Steve's hand always made his look too small. Now even more so as he kissed him goodbye, and murmured a quiet, "Don't try and pawn your meds off on me, Loki. And no, they don't have any value on the black market that I'm aware of."  
And then he was gone, and it was just Loki alone in his room with the buzzing television and the harsh lights that made his skin look eerily translucent.  
He sat back against his pillows and tugged the comforter to his chest. He gave himself a minute, as he always did, to readjust to the feeling of absence. Then he pulled himself together, lowered the blanket that every day reminded him less and less of their home and more and more of this place.  
The grin was forced back on his face, the drawl back in his voice.  
"Oh Nuuurse?"  
The sing-song tone echoed against the concrete walls.  
Maher stuck her head in, brown eyes narrowed to thin slits, as she snapped, "What?"  
He waved at the television. "This machine has been exacerbatin' my condition. I need a plasma screen."  
With a flurry of muffled curses, the busty beauty stormed out of the room and Loki let himself laugh.  
Twenty three hours and thirty two minutes.  
He could wait.  
April 9  
"'The drama's done. Why then here does any one step forth?'..."  
The windows were shuttered as the storm lashed against them, the muted baritone overthrown by loud claps of thunder before regaining its voice.  
"'Round and round, then, and ever contracting towards the button-like black bubble at the axis of that slowly wheeling circle, like another Ixion I did revolve. Till, gaining that vital centre, the black bubble upward burst; and now, liberated by reason of its cunning spring…'"  
Footsteps outside the door paused to listen, drawn into the words by the steady tone, before moving quietly onward, keeping their own voices hushed in reverent silence.  
"'Buoyed up by that coffin, for almost one whole day and night, I floated on a soft and dirge-like main. The unharming sharks, they glided by as if with padlocks on their mouths; the savage sea-hawks sailed with sheathed beaks. On the second day a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.'"  
Steve snapped the book shut with an air of finality and from the bed Loki gave a ragged cheer.  
"I thought that damn thing would never end," the pale boy groaned, and Steve laughed quietly. "Need I remind you that this was your choice?" he murmured, placing the book in the cardboard box next to Loki's bed, balancing it carefully upon the other novels already laid to rest. "And we would have finished sooner if you hadn't gone on that 'Penthouse Forum Articles Only' strike."  
His boyfriend sighed, and muttered quietly, "The endin' was alright though… Ishmael adrift on that coffin in the middle of the ocean… the coffin that wasn't even his…"  
Steve remained silent, walking over to the bookshelf to select the next title. The shelves were growing lean.  
He sat back in his chair and flipped open to the first page, but a thin hand on his wrist stopped him. He looked up and Loki's pale eyebrows were furrowed as he shook his head.  
"I'm tired of hearin' other people's words today," he said quietly. "Could you just… talk unscripted for a bit?"  
Steve closed the book, and took Loki's hand in his. "Can't promise my prose will be on par," he said as lightly as he could, and his lover smiled weakly.  
"If you were half as good at stringin' stuff together as some of these guys, I'dve pimped out your diary long ago for some extra cash," Loki quipped, resting against the headboard with a lazy smile on his face.  
Steve's eyes narrowed. "Journal. And you wouldn't dare."  
"Diary," Loki corrected. "And you know me better than that."  
The lights flickered as another wave of thunder made the bricks in the hospice tremble, and Loki's green eyes lit up with childish excitement. "Turn the lights off," he said suddenly, waving his hand at the switch by the door. "And open the curtains."  
Steve gave a quiet, patronizing sigh but did as he was told, fumbling around in the sudden dark so as not to crash into anything. The afternoon was black with clouds that rolled across the sky like a mass of boiling tar. Another flash of lightning made the room light up in stark monochrome, and Steve turned in time to see Loki staring at the window with a look of subdued longing on his face. His boyfriend shifted as though to stand, and even though the warning tore at him, Steve still murmured, "Loki… don't…"  
With an unfettered growl, Loki collapsed back against the bed, face a mask of fury as his body fought to rebel.  
"I want to see," he snapped, lips curled up in an angry snarl.  
"Then ask," Steve said as calmly as he could, fetching Loki's wheelchair from its place next to the door, but his boyfriend's voice stopped him.  
"If you try and get me to sit in that thing again I swear to God you'll be restricted to one in about thirty seconds," Loki bit out. "Just… just help me move to the chair." Steve gave a quiet sigh, but did as Loki asked, looping one arm underneath his, supporting him as he took three shaky steps and then lowered himself with as much dignity as he could into the hard wooden chair. Loki propped his elbow up on the sill, green eyes staring out into the storm, his anger seeming to abate as a torrent of lightning rained across the sky. Steve leaned against the window frame, pressing his hand against the glass to feel the rain patter against it. He saw Loki do the same as the relentless hour hand slid over the five.  
"…I don't want you to go."  
"I know."  
Another flash of lightening. Then a muffled groan.  
"I left all the windows in the house open."  
Loki laughed, the sound stifled by the rain against the window.  
"Does that mean you'll be puttin' down new hardwood floors like you've been threatenin' to do for the past two years?" he jeered. "'The threat of mildew is imminent!' you said. 'Get your damn towels off the floor!' you said. Ha. Turns out I'm not the main culprit after all. You and your forgetful brain are ruinin' the resale value of our fine estate, I'll have you know. What on earth would Tony think?"  
Steve knelt down next to the chair to silence Loki's mocking laughter with a firm kiss before he pulled away, muttering, "Somehow I think the condition of the house is the least of his worries…"  
Loki smirked. "True." He leaned forward to kiss him again, his fingers curling against the fogged windowpane, thin streaks of condensation trickling down from the warmth of his hand to pool atop the wooden sill.  
The hand on the clock moved to six.  
A knock on the door, and Steve forced himself to pull away, gently untangling his fingers from the soft tendrils of dark hair, absently licking his bruised lips.  
"I… I think I have to go." He stumbled.  
Loki's hand gripped his arm with a strength that was not his own, an empty grin on his face.  
"Gotta start replacin' those floors. I expect to be able to see my reflection in them when I get back," he said quietly.  
Steve smiled, cupping his hand against Loki's proud jaw.  
"Of course."  
The sky was pale gray, thunder rolling in the distance.  
"When you get back."  
April 29  
Four o'clock.  
All the nurses were gathering by his door whispering to each other. And even when snapped, "I'm not fuckin' deaf!" all they did was scatter for a few blessed minutes before coming back again, like tiny, annoying vultures that refused to take a fucking hint.  
Four twenty.  
The flock had grown to twelve, all of them flitting about in their little white uniforms and trying to bring him things like tea and blankets and all he longed to do was snarl at them and inform them that all he wanted was a goddamn answer.  
Four forty three.  
"Where is he," Loki muttered, toying with the cover of the current book they were working their way through.  
At forty past five, the nurses around his door suddenly scattered, and Loki checked in the mirror to make sure he looked pissed off enough as he heard the sound of familiar shoes out in the corridor. Steve rounded the corner and walked calmly into the room and set his bag down. The blonde paused and tilted his head to the side, glancing behind himself as a few nurses quickly withdrew their heads. He turned back around to face Loki and visibly faltered.  
"…Lokes?" Steve said cautiously, "What's going on?"  
Loki just glanced at the clock and back at Steve. "Thought you weren't comin'," he said evenly, green eyes narrowing slightly.  
Steve gave a quiet huff before collapsing in his usual chair. "I told you yesterday. I had a make-up exam."  
"You said it would take an hour, tops," Loki said, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.  
Steve shifted in his seat. "I grabbed a coffee with some friends afterwards," he said casually, picking up the book off the bedside table and flipping open to where they'd left off.  
Loki felt his entire body stiffen, and before he could stop himself he spat out, "A damn cup of coffee couldn't wait until after six o'clock? You can see your goddamn friends any time you want."  
Steve's blue eyes flashed dangerously and he set the book down, folding his arms over his chest. "The 'damn cup of coffee' barely took twenty minutes."  
Loki bit back a snarl as he said slowly, "You're pretty good at arithmetic. Tell me, Captain. What percentage of two hours is twenty minutes? What percentage of your entire fuckin' day is two goddamn hours?"  
"Forgive me if I wasn't exactly eager to come back here," Steve muttered. "Yesterday you called me a pompous asshole and said a rabid porcupine would be capable of engineering more interesting conversation."  
"I was bein' facetious!" Loki's entire leg spasmed as it was now wont to do, and he clenched his fingers against his thigh and swallowed a yell of pain. "But thanks. Nice to see where your priorities lie."  
"It has nothing to do with priorities!" Steve snapped, his veneer of calm entirely shattered. "All I did was get a cup of coffee and you're acting like I spat in your face."  
"You may as well have," Loki muttered bitterly. "I'm not even allowed to drink coffee anymore."  
"Stop being melodramatic," Steve sighed in exacerbation. "You're not-"  
"What I am is fuckin' trapped!" Loki yelled. "No melodrama involved! I can't fuckin' move from this goddamn bed without a thousand doctors swoopin' in to shove me full of needles and give me yet another stellar lecture about my bone and muscle density!"  
"You don't think I'm trapped?!" Steve shouted back, his blue eyes almost white with anger. "I have my own damn life to live, Loki! And yet somehow whenever I try and do that, you just end up making me feel guilty as hell!"  
"Because that used to be our life!" Loki snarled, his voice catching on the words. "They were my friends and my coffee shop and we existed outside of this goddamn room! So don't you fuckin' talk to me about livin' when the only glimpse of that I get is for two miserable hours a day! I'm sick of your martyr attitude and your goddamn-"  
A knock on the door, and then the nurse's chipper voice called out hesitantly, "Sirs? Is everything alright? It's almost six… visiting hours are over…"  
Steve immediately jumped out of his chair as though stung, grabbing his pack with a quiet and nearly inaudible, "Thank God."  
Then he was gone.  
Loki stared through the open door out into the hallway, and the minute a nurse paused to look in at him with a pinched expression on her face, he picked up Steve's spare pare of reading glasses off of the side table and hurled them at the door, aiming for the stupid bitch's face. She shrieked and fell back into the hallway, and Loki allowed himself a brief moment of vicious triumph before he caught a glimpse of the broken glasses on the floor. His chest started to hurt and his head was pounding and finally he couldn't take it anymore and he hugged his pillow against his face and screamed until his lungs burned and his throat was ripped to shreds. He barely felt the needles jabbing into his arms as the pillow was yanked away from him, numbness blurring the edges of his vision until he sank blissfully into unconsciousness.  
April 30  
Steve hesitated outside Loki's door, guilt still wrapping its claws around his throat. He'd been standing still for about three minutes now, eyes tracing the pattern of the wood grain in the door. Every nurse that passed by him gave him a sympathetic stare, and even the orderlies spared him a monosyllabic grunt.  
A thin hand came to rest on his shoulder, making him jump, and he turned to see the good Nurse Maher staring at him with an unimpressed expression on her face.  
"If you're not in that room within fifteen seconds," she said softly, "I'm going to replace your lungs with plastic bags. Bags filled with many holes."  
Steve flushed slightly as he mumbled, "Don't you think I'm trying? It's not as easy as all that. Not after what I said yest-"  
"Save it for someone who cares," the nurse droned. And with one, quick motion she twisted the handle of the door and pushed him inside. Steve stumbled forward, taken off guard enough that the minuscule nurse's gentle shove was enough to move him.  
The door closed behind him.  
Steve braced himself against the wall and slowly stood up, turning to face Loki's bed. His boyfriend was propped up against the headboard with an open book on his lap, his face torn between shock and anger. Loki's green eyes narrowed for a moment before he crossed his arms and looked towards the window.  
"Did you bring it?"  
Steve blinked, any hesitant apologies he was mentally formulating crumbling to dust as he stared at him in confusion.  
"…What?"  
"Did you bring it?" Loki repeated slowly, green eyes shifting to glare at him. "Remember? You swore that if you ever said somethin' more asinine than I ever have that you'd apologize by buyin' me my own country to lord over. So. Did you bring the deeds to this shiny new country of mine? Is it populated by magical tiger minions like you promised?"  
Steve's mouth twitched slightly, but mostly he just felt relief flood his system, making his knees give out. He sank down into his chair, and buried his head in his hands.  
"Sorry," he said softly. "The UN is out of countries. They're expecting a new shipment in on Tuesday."  
Steve didn't get the laugh he was looking for, but he did hear Loki give a derisive snort.  
"Figures," the boy muttered. "The one time I get to call you out on that…"  
Steve raised his head and gave a weak grin before rising to his feet and moving over to the window. "I couldn't get you the country, but…" He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the door was closed before he opened the window and scrambled out, holding up one finger to motion for Loki to hold on a moment. He returned a moment later, hoisting the paper bag he'd stashed outside up into Loki's room, slightly out of breath from having to crawl down the gutter to retrieve the thing. He clambered back through the window, flushing a bit as he leaned back on the sill. "I… I know it's not the same as going out, but…"  
He stood up and handed the bag out towards Loki, the fingers of his free hand nervously twisting themselves around a loose thread in his sweatshirt. Loki hesitated a moment before accepting it, raising one eyebrow at him. But Steve just mutely shook his head and sat back down in his chair while Loki opened the paper bag, blue eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. The smile that came over his boyfriend's face was worth the climb a thousand times over.  
"I had to hide it outside," he said quietly. "The nurses check my stuff now… ever since I tried to bring you in that… that porn like you asked. And I swore it was the last time I did you a favor, but-"  
"Babe. Shut up."  
Steve's mouth closed automatically.  
Loki took a sip of the coffee, a small smile on his face. "From that place on the Platz?"  
"One and the same."  
Loki made a small noise of approval. "Karin still working there?"  
"She is." Steve settled back in his chair, retrieving his own, not so extravagant cup of coffee from the bag on Loki's lap, mentally breathing a sigh of relief as they fell back into normalcy. "She's dating that guy who was in your metal working class. Uh… Tobi."  
Loki rolled his eyes, cradling the cup of coffee to his chest. "Thought the girl had better taste. She had a crush on me, didn't she?"  
Steve drank a bit more of his coffee and gave a tiny hum, "Babe, according to you, the world at large had a crush on you at one point or another."  
"Damn straight." Loki sounded pleased with himself. "I mean, come on. Even you weren't immune to my awesome vibes."  
"'Awesome vibes'. What is this, a seventies flashback episode?" Steve muttered, a light flush staining his cheeks.  
They drank their coffee in silence for a moment.  
"I didn't mean it."  
Loki didn't respond, just reached into the paper bag to retrieve one of the scones Steve had stashed in there as well.  
Steve tried again.  
"I was having a horrible day. I hadn't been sleeping. I hadn't studied for the exam. The dog I had to operate on died on the table…" He trailed off, staring for a moment at the uncaring lid of his coffee cup. "…But those are just excuses. What I said… I didn't-… I didn't mean-"  
"Yes you did."  
Steve looked up as Loki spoke, his blue eyes wide. "N-No, Loki. I-"  
"You meant every word." Loki took another calm sip of his coffee. "But it's true. I don't want you to live your life. I do make you feel guilty. I do it on purpose. Because every minute you spend out there with them is another minute you should be spendin' with me. Is another minute I'm stuck here." The boy's hand shook slightly as he set his coffee cup down on the comforter and turned slightly to catch Steve's eyes in the corner of his vision. "You meant every word," he said impassively, voice dull as the bleached yellow walls of the room. "I shouldn't keep you trapped here. You shouldn't be forced to-"  
"No one's forcing me to do anything," Steve said firmly. "I'm here because I want to be, babe. I'm here every day because it's what I need. Until… until you come home. I'll be here." He cautiously reached out his hand to rest atop Loki's thin one, raising his eyes to meet his averted green ones. "Every day. Like I promised."  
After a moment Loki turned his head to look at his boyfriend, a small frown on his face. "…Yeah, well… you promised me my own country too," he muttered. "Look how that panned out."  
But the frown was gone and the smirk back in a moment as Loki took another generous swig of his coffee. "'Course, you did bring me coffee," he drawled, thoughtfully tapping his finger against the lid of the cup. "I figure you do this… oh, twice a week. I might gain the capacity to forgive you."  
Steve gave a weak smile. "I think your doctor would flay me alive if I snuck coffee in for you that often. Even with this we're risking-"  
"Stop, stop," Loki sighed. "I don't want to hear it. I just want to enjoy my coffee guilt free with my darlin' dear, and then maybe act distraught enough to get you to fix that damn television once and for all."  
Steve opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. "Alright," he agreed quietly, "I'll try and keep the guilt trips to a minimum."  
Steve's eyes slid shut, a small smile on his worn face as he held his coffee cup as though it were the Holy Grail. "Thanks… for the overly apologetic coffee."  
Steve said nothing, but picked up the book off the bedside table, noting his missing reading glasses but choosing to let it go. He reached into his bag and pulled out his spare pair, before he flipped open to the page they were on and began reading, his low voice barely audible above the hum of machinery dampening the small room.  
"'… If she herself had had any picture of the future, it had been of a society of animals set free from hunger and the whip, all equal, each working according to his capacity, the strong protecting the weak.…"  
An hour later the cups of coffee lay empty and abandoned inside the garbage can, hidden underneath a stack of paper towels. The book was set aside, the room quiet and still and far too familiar to be considered a temporary dwelling.  
Steve held Loki's hand as he slept, running his thumb over the stark tendons, the pallor of his skin an almost deathly glow.  
He brushed dark bangs off Loki's forehead, and gently pressed his lips against the cool skin, whispering into the humming air.  
"Thanks dear… for drinking decaff without a fuss…"  
May 17  
Loki clutched his pillow to his face, trying to will himself to stop. He heard Nurse Maher's clipped voice ordering the other nurses around, but he didn't really care. Couldn't bring himself to care, so much of his energy was focused on shutting the fuck up.  
He distantly heard the door click open, Maher barking out, "Now's not really a good time, Sir. You-"  
"What the hell is going on?!"  
Steve.  
Loki hugged the pillow tighter, not wanting even the smallest bit of his face to show as his body continued to rebel against him.  
"It's his meds. Doktor Schultz put him on a new medication and he's not reacting well to it. He-"  
"Not reacting well? How do you mean? Is it making him sicker, or…"  
"Not physically, no," Nurse Maher said brusquely. "But he is in no state to see you right now, so I suggest you-"  
"N-No."  
Every voice in the room fell silent, and Loki felt a large, calloused hand gently brush against his.  
"Loki? Are… are you alright?"  
Steve's voice was barely audible.  
Loki shook his head, but then choked out, "G-Get-… get …out…"  
He heard the nurse sigh. "Alright, Sir. You heard your friend. He doesn't want to see you right now. You can come back tomorrow and-"  
Loki wrenched the pillow away from his face to glare at the nurse as best he could with tears still streaming down his face.  
"I-I want my boyfriend, Maher," he choked out, running a hand angrily over his eyes. "Get the hell out."  
The nurse looked a razor's edge away from flagrant homicide, but after a moment she obediently left, shooing her flock of subordinates out with her as she went.  
With the distraction gone, though, there was nowhere to look but at Steve. Loki forced himself to keep staring at the comforter as a fresh wave of sobs wracked his body. He pulled his hand away from Steve's and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes as though trying to force the humiliation back inside.  
"I-I'm s-sorry," he sobbed, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. "D-Don't want you to s-see…I c-can't… s-stop…The meds… th-they fucked u-up my head and all I c-can think about i-is… b-bad things…"  
The room was quiet again except for Loki's ragged gasping as he fought to get his body back under control, hoping that the thought of his boyfriend having to bear witness to his most humiliating moment would maybe shock him enough that he'd be able to stop.  
But it wasn't working. And every fresh sob, every broken cry that managed to worm its way out of his body just made him wish the disease would take him faster. He'd never cried in front of Steve. Never cried at all, in fact. Not since forever ago. And now to have his mind hijacked like this, to have his body ignore every austere rule he'd forced upon it for twenty five years was more than he could stand. He opened his mouth to order Steve away. To cut their already short time even shorter when-  
"You've seen me cry, love."  
Steve's voice was warm against his ear, his arms solid around his own trembling shoulders. Loki tried to pull away, but his grip didn't waver.  
"You've seen me at my worst… below my worst…"  
The bed dipped slightly as Loki felt Steve move to sit next to him, a gentle hand tugging on his own. Loki tried to resist, but his own muscles were weak and useless and in a matter of seconds his eyes were bared, staring up into Steve's bright blue ones. Loki could see himself reflected in them. Could see what a disgusting mess of tears and sweat he was. What a fucking coward that couldn't stop crying even when Steve's thumb brushed just underneath his lashes.  
But what he couldn't see… was scorn. Revulsion. And he looked, blinking back the tears to clear his eyes as he searched for even the faintest hint of disgust. But it wasn't there.  
He shakily reached out to mimic Steve's movements, cupping his cheek as he continued to sob. "S-Steve… I hate this… I h-hate cryin'… in front of y-you…"  
Steve's expression twisted and his blue eyes slid shut as he pulled Loki into a hug, murmuring softly, "I know... I know you do. Just hold on to me, Babe… "  
Loki clung to his boyfriend's shoulders as best he could, his arms shaking as he pressed his face against Steve's neck. It took time. It took a long, long time, but finally Loki's wracking cries grew stifled, his breath came in shuttering gasps as he slowly but surely gained control of himself. The torrent of noise in his head petered out, and he could finally hear again. Steve's heart pounding. His deep voice murmuring quietly. The steady drone of machines. His own disgusting breathing. His teeth chattering.  
He cautiously pulled away, and Steve let him sit back against the headboard. Loki was shocked at how drained he felt. He could barely keep his eyes open enough to see Steve fetch a box of tissues and bring them to his bed, offering them hesitantly.  
"…Better?" the blonde asked, face still pinched with worry.  
Loki mutely shook his head as he took a few of the tissues to blow his nose and to mop at his damp face. A few tears still managed to leak out every now and then, but Loki swiped at them angrily. "'m fine," he muttered, tossing the tissues in the direction of the trash can. They fell about four feet short. And that, more than anything, summed up how Loki was feeling. Used tissue on a hospice floor, only a few feet away from being permanently discarded.  
Steve moved off the bed to throw away the tissue, and Loki had to stop himself from protesting to try and save the pathetic tissues. In a moment, though, he returned, settling back down on the bed as he gave a quiet sigh. "If I promise to erase this from memory… will you be honest with me?" Steve asked, softly brushing his lips against the damp skin just under each of Loki's eyes.  
He let out an unsteady sigh. "…Honest about what?"  
Steve pressed a kiss against his temple, murmuring, "About why you were crying."  
Loki stiffened. "I told you, the drugs-"  
"Are an excuse."  
Loki snarled and tried to pull away, "You think I'm just cryin' for no good reason then?!"  
"I didn't say that," Steve said quietly. "There's always a good reason."  
Loki's green eyes flashed, but his bottom lip trembled, betraying him. "It is the drugs," he insisted, voice tight with self-restraint. "It is. It is, but…"  
Quite suddenly, he found himself crying again, the tears slowly running down his cheeks. But it was calm this time. Calm and silent as he clung to his boyfriend's arms and rested his head against the other man's chest.  
"…I'm scared, Steve."  
Loki dug his fingers into his arms, trying desperately to hold on to all he had left.  
"I'm so scared…"  
June 6  
Four o'clock.  
Steve opened the door to Loki's room.  
He refilled the water pitcher on the side table.  
Loki was asleep.  
Steve pulled his books out of his bag and started studying.  
Six o'clock.  
Steve put his books away and placed a gentle kiss to his boyfriend's forehead.  
Loki was asleep.  
He straightened the note he'd left behind on the side table.  
Steve closed the door to the room.  
June 29  
Nights were the worst.  
Loki stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet moans coming from the room next door. He weakly slammed his fist into the wall, yelling as loudly as he could, "Markus! Shut the fuck up!"  
There came a muffled, "Screw you, prick face!" from the other side, but then silence once again reigned supreme.  
Loki tried to get comfortable, but the IV in his hand was itching like crazy, and the tiny ache that had started plaguing his chest was back in full force. For a few hours he just concentrated on breathing. Anything to keep his thoughts away from that dark place they slipped to when it was late and he was alone.  
Four in the morning was when things always got bad.  
This particular brand of panic was a funny sort of thing. It was always there, residing in the back of his mind. Always demanding his attention, no matter how slight. Every so often it would rear its head just to see what was going on and then either decide to sink its little fangs into his heart or go back to sleep. The only time it was ever, truly silent was for those two precious hours a day.  
But four in the morning was when the thing stopped playing nice. It ate away at him, and every noise, every slight creak of his joints was that thing. Tiny little aches and pains made him convinced that at any moment that damn machine attached to his chest was going to stop beeping and start flat-lining. That his heart would give out. That everything stuffed within him would melt into useless goo and he'd be lying there for days. No one to talk to. No lungs to breathe though. No eyes to see through.  
Five in the morning was when the spell first began to crack. It started with the newspaper hitting the door. Exactly at five oh three. Every morning. From the sound of the dull thud, Loki counted the seconds. The minutes. Until finally, finally the morning shift started, one-thousand six hundred and twenty seconds later. And muffled voices sounded down the hall, and the sharp bite of coffee drove away the lingering scent of antiseptic. And then at promptly six o'clock, Nurse Maher would come storming into his room, and Loki was so grateful to have solid, undeniable proof that he wasn't the only thing left in the world that he'd try and talk to her, even though talking to Maher before she'd had an army's worth of caffeine usually ensured that your meal that day would be grotesque enough to make even starving rats turn up their noses. But with Maher came the sun, peaking through his curtains until she ripped them open, and the light… oh the light… It flooded him. Because the light… meant that it was only nine hours and eighteen minutes until Steve came and the thing inside his skull shut up.  
…But today was cloudy. And it was Nurse Maher's day off.  
Loki lay in the dark, his fingers nervously tapping against the metal frame of his bed. Door closed so the smell of coffee stayed barricaded in the hallway. Rain drummed against the window, drowning out the sound of his shallow breathing. Breathing that was more and more painful every second. There was a vice around his lungs that moved in time with the clock.  
Tick.  
A turn of the screw.  
Tick.  
A turn of the screw.  
That ticking. That insistent ticking and now Loki didn't find that story about the man with the heart hidden under his floorboards so very damn funny. The ticking was in his head, and he pressed his hands against his ears to try and keep it out. And the rain made the ticking louder and there were no voices and he was alone. Alone, God he was alone and going to die. Dying even now. His hour come to rest at last. A rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem.  
The knock on the door startled him, and Loki could only stare at the nurse as she brought in his food and set the tray on the side table. She flashed him a cotton fogged smile and her pink nails were shells on a beach with a little fleshy snail inside each of them, worming and writhing and she was asking him how he was today and Loki answered, "Slouching" because it was the only word left in his head. And she gave him a funny look and turned on the television and left.  
Loki stared at the tray, but all he could see were the snails in their pink shells. So he turned on his side and counted the stripes in the pristine wallpaper.  
In a rare moment of clarity, Loki realized he was going mad. There were faces in the stripes on the walls. Like in that story, about the woman locked all alone in the room and she could see a woman trapped in the wallpaper. It was yellow. The paper.  
The knowledge didn't surprise him, but it did make the vice around his lungs tighten another notch.  
After stripe counting time was over, the woman came back and tried to scold him for not even trying to eat.  
"Ah, well. Your friend will force you to eat something, I'm sure."  
Loki sat up, blinking at the nurse who was staring back at him with an equally blank expression.  
"…When is-… What time is it?" Saner to ask in real people's terms. Real people who didn't measure time by footsteps on the linoleum floor.  
She looked at her watch, ignoring the clock on the wall even though it was the size of a blue whale's eye and her watch was buildings all stacked atop each other.  
"Eleven thirty."  
Eleven twelve one two three five. Five more hours.  
"Thanks." The clock was clock sized again. But it was staring at him. "Open the damn curtains."  
With a clack of heels and an indignant inhalation of air through nasal passages, the curtains were opened. She left.  
Loki stared back at the clock, his red eyes narrowed.  
"…The fuck is wrong with me."  
The little hand dragged itself over the twelve, then separated from its big hand lover just a bit. And the next time they came close, there was a crack between them. It was better than a soap opera. Loki watched in mild fascination and horror as the gap grew wider and wider and then-  
Shoes on the floor.  
The drama of the clock was forgotten as Loki looked eagerly at the door. It slid open and Steve came stumbling inside, his normally slicked back hair damp and falling in his blue, blue eyes. And the vice tightened.  
Steve collapsed in his chair and gave a loud sigh. "What a day. God… Sophia lost half the files we were supposed to be reviewing and-  
Without thinking, Loki reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck, tugging him down to press his lips against his as hard as he could. He was weak, and his arms were trembling, but the vice was getting tighter and tighter and usually this was what helped but Steve was trying to pull away and Loki was too weak to hold on and-  
"Wha- Loki, what the hell are you doing?!"  
Steve's voice was breathless, and he was angry. His eyes only flashed like that when he was angry.  
But Loki didn't care.  
"The fuck's it look like I'm doin'?!"  
Another quick jerk and Steve was his again. But it was wrong, all wrong no matter how hard Loki tried and when he pulled away for a second time Loki let go immediately, his hands burning from where they'd touched him. The clock was staring at him and making him feel self conscious and humiliated and he buried his face in his hands just so he didn't have to look anymore.  
"…You don't want me."  
The pelting rain almost swallowed his voice.  
Loki could feel himself crying from a very distant place, his entire being focused on the words.  
"S-S… why you don't want me anymore…"  
The gentle hand on his shoulder broke him, and with a wretched snarl Loki shoved it away, his gaunt face twisted and mean as he bit out, "Don't touch me, Steve."  
Steve's voice was quiet and sensible. Like always. "Loki… It's not that. I mean just… just look at yourself. You're not supposed to be-"  
"I. Know." He was a skeleton now. With skin and eyes and hair and all the fleshy bits inside but still a skeleton. "Don't touch me. Not ever again."  
He heard the scrape of the chair as Steve settled back down. "…I'm sorry."  
That didn't help. Loki clutched at his bony wrists, and wished very much he could still punch things. "I don't fuckin' care how sorry you are," he said amiably. "Now either start readin' or get the fuck out. I don't want to hear anythin' real today."  
There was just the clock and him for a moment before the rustling of pages chimed in. And then Steve's voice. Different though. Through a strainer or the eye of a needle it was thin and stretched.  
"…'He will be your true Christian: ready to turn the other cheek, ready to be crucified rather than crucify, sick to the very heart at the thought even of killing a fly. Reclamation! Joy before the angels of God! The point is that it works…'"  
The two hours were two weeks. Two eons where people built pyramids and fought each other and fucked and replicated and made cars and shiny things to take them places so they could fight and fuck around the world.  
Then the book closed.  
"Steve, please…"  
Loki didn't move.  
"Please, I… what can I do to make this better?"  
Loki sat up and pointed at the yellow wallpaper.  
"…Hand me that clock."  
Without a moment's hesitation, Steve stood up and walked over to the wall, reaching up and plucking the clock from its home. He moved back to his chair and sat, handing the clock to him.  
Loki cradled the thin plastic in his thin hands and watched the hands move along their tracks. Maybe they didn't like moving in circles. Maybe they wanted to move in a square. Or a spiral.  
"Loki… Why are you-"  
He slammed the clock into Steve's face. There was the delicious sound of cracking plastic bones and ripping cartilage springs and no more ticking, no more voice and Loki laughed with vicious delight because he was finally, finally free and he didn't care what it cost, he-  
"Loki… Why are you staring at the clock?"  
The clock was in his hands. Intact. Hands moving in circles, not squares.  
It ticked.  
He threw it against the wall where it exploded like a plastic, spring loaded firework. The pieces clattered to the floor and Loki fell back on the bed with a satisfied sigh. He grinned up at Steve.  
"Thanks."  
Steve's eyes were blue. Blue like the bits of clock on the floor.  
"…Did… Did the clock make you angry?"  
Loki laughed, his thin chest heaving as the laugh dissolved into a cough. He could feel the heat from Steve's hand hovering a few centimeters from his skin, and he shifted just enough to close the gap. Steve flinched away, but Loki wordlessly shook his head and grabbed Steve's hand with his bony fingers.  
"N-No," Loki stuttered weakly. "D-Don't… don't leave me… I lied. I always, always lie…"  
Steve's smile was tired and unsure, but it was real, just like the hand on his arm and the gentle, hesitant lips on his cheek.  
The clock twitched weakly on the floor.  
July 15  
Steve stared at the nurse at the counter.  
"Come again?"  
She flushed in a way that probably made most men weak in the knees. It just made Steve irritated.  
"Y-Your friend… has requested no visitors."  
Steve fought not to roll his eyes. "He always has that outstanding order. No visitors except family."  
The nurse looked away.  
"…It… It just says no visitors, Sir."  
"…Oh."  
Steve stepped away from the counter, his face a neutral mask.  
"Thank you."  
He turned on his heel and walked back out into the parking lot, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.  
Every day.  
He'd promised.  
He'd promised. So why…  
Steve unlocked his car on autopilot and slid into the seat. He buckled his seatbelt and promptly forgot what came next. Something about keys. Turning keys.  
He didn't know how long he sat there, hands at ten and two. But a loud knock on the passenger window made him jump. It was the nurse. Steve leaned over to open the door and she bent down, beaming at him as she held out a piece of paper.  
"From your friend," she chirped, voice like a starling's.  
Steve reached out and plucked the sheet out of the woman's fingers. "Thanks," he muttered absently.  
She left, shutting the car door.  
Steve fiddled with the note for a moment and then opened it, the thin paper crackling in his hands.  
Please.  
Please come back.  
It was Loki's scratchy handwriting. But faded. Like when he used to fog up the windows in their grandfather's house and write his name in bold letters and watch it melt away. For days after, if you breathed on the same spot, you could see the faint remnants of the letters that made up his name. Like little stutters on the glass.  
Steve all but bolted from the car, almost locking his keys inside. He wasn't stopped at the front desk this time, so he was free to barrel down the hallway and into his room.  
Loki was propped up on his bed, his stark cheekbones casting his face into odd shadows. He turned his head and held out his trembling arm.  
"P-Please… I'm sorry…I-… I'm so tired of you seein' me like this, I just-"  
Steve moved forward to hold Loki against his chest, his arms grown accustomed to how fragile he had become. He stroked his hand over the thinning dark hair, gently shaking his head.  
"You apologize too much."  
He could feel Loki trembling, and he slowly trailed his hand down his back, fingers catching slightly on each stark vertebrae.  
"…Professor Schuler was asking about you."  
"…H-He was?" Loki hiccupped. "Why?"  
Steve smiled and pressed a kiss against Loki's hair. "He used your thesis as an example in class."  
"O-Oh…" Loki sounded cautiously pleased-as though he weren't sure if he were allowed to feel proud anymore. "Good or bad example? …Or god-like?"  
Steve laughed quietly. "God-like. The man was practically ready to start building an altar to you."  
He felt rather than heard Loki chuckle as his thin frame trembled beneath his hands. "Finally, someone gets it right…" The other man pulled away and grinned, his green eyes crinkling around the edges with amusement despite the dark bruises that marred his face. And even though the smirk was merely a shadow of his usual debonair and rakish expression, it still made Steve's breath catch in his throat with the kind of sad happiness he'd come to embrace.  
He reached out his hand to cup Loki's cheek, running his thumb along the ugly bruises that speckled the pale skin. "I've missed your smile," he said softly.  
Loki gave a delicate snort, but tilted his head into the touch, resting his cool fingers against the back of Steve's hand. "I don't fuckin' smile. Smirk, maybe. Sneer. I think I might've even leered once or twice. But never smilin'. Please."  
Steve's mouth quirked up in a grin. "Oh, really? Because I seem to remember a few pictures from a certain birthday of yours where you were not only smirking and sneering and leering, but honest to God smiling."  
"…Damn," Loki said quietly, his red eyes more alive than Steve had seen them in weeks. "Thought you were too drunk to remember. You're talking about my eighteenth, right? When I got my car?"  
"A 'car' you call it," Steve said scornfully. "Too generous a term. A box with wheels probably gets better fuel economy. Probably moves faster too."  
Loki let out an indignant 'hey!' and punched Steve in the arm. Steve pretended like it hurt, and rubbed at the offended area, and Loki pretended like he believed him.  
"That 'box' is my pride and joy!" Loki said, his voice sounding injured. "My legacy! And you better take damn good care of it when I'm-"  
"Don't."  
The room was quiet, the absent clock's ticking sorely missed.  
Loki shifted uneasily. "…Sorry," he mumbled. "Wasn't thinkin'."  
Steve remained silent. His chest hurt.  
"…I know."  
He pressed his hands against his eyes. "And… And I'm taking care of that pathetic thing you call a car, man. It's in the garage. Right where you left it."  
Steve felt his hand weakly tousle his hair. "That's my babe," Loli murmured, "Practically clairvoyant when it comes to my whims…"  
Steve gave an unsteady laugh and lowered his hands to look at Loki, "My one and only talent," he muttered. "That's all my résumé says. 'Cute boy mind reader'."  
He got the laugh he was looking for and picked up their latest book off the side table. He put on his reading glasses and glanced at Loki.  
"Ready?"  
Loki nodded and leaned back against the pillows, his thin fingers laced over his chest.  
Steve gave a quiet cough and began.  
"'Being in love was like China: you knew it was there, and no doubt it was very interesting, and some people went there, but I never would. I'd spend all my life without ever going to China, but it wouldn't matter, because there was all the rest of the world to visit…'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please. Don't stop here. You have to see how they move along


	2. Chapter 2

August 27

His grandfather was looking at him. Loki tried to glare at the old man, but it was hard when he couldn't even lift his head off the pillow. "Loki." He blinked, and turned his head. There was someone else in the room. "…Yeah?" he asked, trying to remember who else was talking to him. "Our next book. Which one do you want to pick? There's only seven left on the shelf." "You could stand to read the Bible. Not that it will do much good at this point." Loki twitched and glared at his grandfather. "God, Groβvatti! Would you leave the fuckin' dogma bullshit out of it?!" His grandfather just glared back, arms crossed over his chest. Loki sneered one last time and then turned over, tired of staring at the wizened face. He blinked. "Babe?" Steve was sitting in his chair, a look of surprise warping his blue irises. Loki pushed himself up a bit and shook his head. "When… when did you get here?" His memories were buried in a swamp. Even when he managed to dredge them up they were covered in slime and moss and were partially eaten by alligators. Steve looked like someone had punched him in the stomach, and Loki tried, he really did try, to remember why. He reached out and rested his hand against Steve's arm, his fingers like stripped bones next to the tan skin. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. "You don't look well…" "Why would he be well? Not with how you're touching him like that." Loki withdrew his hand as though burned and glared at his grandfather. "Shut. Up," he hissed. "You're gone. I'm not. Stop damnin' me to perdition from your own private room in Hell you sad fuck!" "Loki!" Steve's voice made Loki jump, and he turned around to glare at his boyfriend. "What?" he snapped. "Is that how we're supposed to great each other from now on? By screechin' like kindergartners?" Steve looked like someone had punched him in the stomach, and Loki tried, he really did try, to remember why. He reached out and rested his hand against Steve's arm, his fingers like stripped bones next to the tan skin. "… Sorry 'bout that," he apologized, his eyes clouded with worry. "...Are you alright? You don't look so good…" Steve stared down at Loki's hand, and then he slowly leaned back in his chair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Loki was starting to get a bit freaked out and he reached out to shake him by the shoulder. "Steve… babe... C'mon man, talk to me," he said quietly. "You're scarin' me…" Steve's shoulders were shaking, and if Loki weren't already exhausted from just sitting up he would have moved to hug him by now. As it was, he just tightened his grip as best he could and ignored his grandfather's not-so-subtle sermons. But still, the blonde made no movement, other than to gasp for air, his lungs sounding like a death rattle. "…Steve?" Loki was approaching panicked, if his heart rate monitor were anything to go by. "Steve, please… say somethin'…" Steve slowly raised his head and stared at Loki, his blue eyes pained. He took a deep breath and grabbed Loki's hand, engulfing it in his own. "…Who were you talking to?" Loki frowned. "Who else? Groβvatti," he said matter-of-factly. The guy was standing right there, after all, probably muttering more about how they were both going to hell and the same stupid shit he'd spouted for twenty two years. Steve's face grew pale. He licked his lips and seemed almost terrified as he said slowly, "Lokes… you know that your grandfather… he passed away three years ago." Loki stared back. "…And?" "'And?' What the hell do you mean, 'and'?" Steve said, voice cracked and broken. "Loki, you're talking to a dead man." "Well what else d'you want me to do? He's standin' right there yellin' and- Shut the fuck up! I wish to God I had put arsenic in your beer you stupid bastard!" Loki snapped, whipping his head around to glare at his grandfather. He turned back around, a sour expression on his face. "Sorry," he muttered, glancing up at Stevs. "He keeps interruptin' me with more goddamn Bible verses and prophecies about us burnin' in Hell. Just like when the cocksucker was alive." Steve's hands trembled as they held his own, and he shook his head, blonde hair falling in his eyes. "I… I don't remember him ever saying anything like that," he said quietly. "I thought you said he hated religious organizations… …Right?" Loki blinked. "He did?" Steve just nodded slowly, and squeezed Loki's hand so hard it felt like it was going to splinter. "D-Do… do you talk to dead people often?" Loki rolled his eyes. "What the hell are you talkin' about? I'm no Haley Joel." Steve looked up at Loki, shock plain on his face. "But… but you were just talking to your dead grandfather," he said, blue eyes raking over Loki's face. "You just told me." Loki sat up as best he could and stared at him, panic making his heart beat a little faster. "…Steve…Do they have you on-… I mean, are you takin' any medications?" he asked carefully, trying to pull his hand away as gently as he could. "For stress?" Now Steve looked confused. "Medications? N-No… I'm not taking anything…" Loki closed his eyes and gave a small sigh. "Are you sure? Nothin' to relieve stress? Because I could have sworn you told me I was just talkin' to Groβvatti." Steve's voice was almost angry. "But you were! You just said-" "He's been dead for years, Steve!" Loki snapped falling backwards on his pillows with an irritated sigh. "Just fuckin' let go of the coffin already! Jesus… Bad enough when we had to bury the asshole, you keep diggin' him back up." They sat in silence for a moment before Steve let out a small sound of distress. "So… so who were you talking to?" he asked quietly, and Loki had to fight not to roll his eyes. "You, dumbass," he drawled, fingers tapping against the bed frame. "Which book are we gonna read next? There's only seven left." The room was completely silent. Loki turned his head to stare up at Steve, one pale eyebrow raised. "…Hallo? Earth to Steve…" Steve blinked and then quickly shook his head. "R-Right… books," he murmured. "Seven left." Loki rolled his eyes and stared back up at the ceiling. His boyfriend was such a dork. A small noise to his right made him jump, and he looked over to see Steve sitting in his chair with a small frown on his face. Loki let out a slow breath, feeling his heart rate return to normal. "Damn. You've gotta stop doin' that to me," he muttered. Steve glanced at him, his face haggard. "Doing what?" "Sneakin' up on me." Loki yawned. "When'd you get here?"

September 9

Steve stood in the doorway of his boyfriend's room, his best glare on his face. "Move." Nurse Maher popped her gum. "Not happening." Steve buried his hands in his hair, the stress of an already bad day making his notoriously bad temper even shorter. "If you do not move from that doorway in three seconds, I'm going to-" "Punch an innocent woman?" Maher supplied, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "Right. Because the next thing you need is having to pay a lawyer to represent you in a lawsuit on top of all the doctor's bills. His grandfather's life insurance only goes so far, kid. Don't push it." Steve shook his head, his mind running on repeat, like a record that just kept looping over and over again. "Move." He heard Maher sigh. "Look, Sir. Your friend gave me specific instructions not to let you into the room today. He says it 'still counts'-whatever that means-even if you don't actually enter his room." "N-No." Steve ran a hand through his hair, the skipping record in his head getting worse. "I have to see him. I promised. I have to see him." Nurse Maher swore under her breath, and then muttered, "Hang on a second." She pushed open the door to Loki's room and slipped inside. A moment later she returned and beckoned Steve to follow. He hurried to do so, one of the day's many burdens lifted off his shoulders. He stopped in front of his customary chair and started to sit down when Maher grabbed him by the elbow and glared at him with all the ferocity her petite frame could muster. "I don't think so," she hissed. "He's asleep, and if he wakes up and sees you here he's going to have my ass. Going against patient wishes could get me fired. Are you understanding me?" Steve could do nothing but nod. She let go of his elbow with a terse, "Good." She walked to the door and said quietly, "I'll give you a minute. No more." She pulled the door shut. Steve sat down in his chair anyway, needing to go through the ritual. Needing something to hold on to even as Loki was knocked unconscious by the dozens of drugs coursing through his system, fed to his veins by the maze of tubes binding him in place. Steve studied his sleeping face, feeling, more than anything… numb. This sleeping thing in the bed wasn't his boyfriend. Loki hated sleeping on his back. He always mumbled in his sleep, and the next morning would babble on about some dream he'd had, and Steve would be able to piece together the mumbled words with the dream, like filling in the blank word bubbles in a comic book. Loki was a light sleeper, and he'd start awake at the slightest noise, be it a squirrel trying to claw its way up their roof or some dog off in the distance howling piteously. This sleeping thing was nothing like the man Steve knew. He needed Lokk to be awake. To prove that beneath the unrecognizable skeleton he still existed. Battered and weary but still there and alive and his for those two hours a day. But all Steve could feel was nothing. It had been a long, long week. He went through the rest of the motions, tiding up the room as quickly and quietly as he could, double checking their place in the book. He brushed Loki's hair out of his face-the dark bangs long enough to halfway cover his eyes-and placed a kiss on his forehead before grabbing his bag and bolting from the room. He said nothing to Nurse Maher on the way out. Turned off the radio in his car on the drive home. Opened the front door to their empty house, and made his way upstairs to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, even though there was no one else to disturb him. A movement born of habit. Like kissing his boyfriend's forehead. He leaned back against the oak door and slowly slid down to the ground, long legs resting on the cool tile floor. He tried to lose himself in the stillness of the house. The quiet creak of timbers and the eerie tap-tapping of branches against glass panes. But he couldn't feel. Much at all, really. He gently bumped his head against the door behind him and told himself to stop being selfish. All the doctor's bills were still covered. The mortgage paid. He was healthy. Still slated to graduate in less than a year. Loki was-… … …This was the part in the ritual where he was supposed to remind himself, "Loki was going to get better." Steve drew his knees up to his chest, and leaned forward, staring blankly at the black and white pattern on the tile. He let out a shaky breath, the black diamond tiles glowing purple around the edges whenever he moved his eyes a bit. Afterimage, or something. He vaguely remembered reading about it in a textbook a few years back. But why black went to purple instead of white he had no idea. Steve closed his eyes. He could still see the pattern. Purple diamonds instead of white. Like a harlequin costume. Purple diamonds instead of- "…L-Loki…" The word fell dead on the tile the moment it was spoken. Steve's shoulders shook as he cried, the quiet sobs echoing hollowing around the sterile room, against the door that no longer needed to be locked. There was no danger of interruption. No chance that someone would hear him screaming like a madman at the uncaring tile in his bathroom and come running to pound on the door and try the handle and threaten to call the police if he didn't calm the fuck down and open the goddamn door. Still, the door remained locked. The tile flashed purple instead of white. September _ Steve's voice. More a vibration than a sound. He could barely feel it through the haze. The gauze in his ears and over his eyes. Binding his mouth shut. Rendering his legs and arms immobile. Taking everything away from him. Loki wasn't an idiot. He knew what the gauze was. He was dying.

September 21

Steve waved his hand, exhaustion robbing him of most of his words. "'m fine. I promise." The nurse hesitated in the doorway, her small face pinched as she said quietly, "This… this is really unorthodox, Sir. The hospice has a policy that-" "I know the damn policy!" Steve snapped, two weeks of only napping and never sleeping making his eyes itchy and his temper razor thin. The nurse took a step back, her brown eyes wide and Steve's anger immediately evaporated. "Sorry," he mumbled, running a hand over his face. "It's been… a long week." The nurse glanced at the bed and her expression softened. "Of course," she said quietly. Steve shook his head and brushed the encroaching silence away. "Thank you for the cot." He glanced at his duffle thrown in the corner, a bitter smile on his face. "Would you believe that this is probably going to be the best I've slept in months?" The nurse laughed, although the noise was uncertain. Like she didn't entirely get the joke. Her bubbly voice trailed off, and she let out the breathy sigh of the downtrodden before saying cheerily, "You're welcome. Let the night staff know if you need anything." Steve just nodded in response and the nurse left, the door sliding shut behind her. A moment later, the lights flicked off and then on again, dimmer than before. Steve stood completely still, and the quiet noises of the machine made it sound like the walls were breathing. In a moment of childish impulse, Steve kicked the flimsy cot against the wall, and the loud clatter interrupted the breathing of the walls. It was satisfying. Fleetingly. Steve sank into his chair, absently fiddling with his reading glasses. "I suppose this is why you hate sleeping here." The walls exhaled in response. Steve propped his elbow up on the bed, and stared at the comforter. "It's turned gray," he noted absently, stroking the once soft blanket. "Must be from all the harsh sterilization they do." He laughed quietly, and rested his head against the bed. "Bet you don't resent my Hausfrau ways now, do you." Someone in the other room gave a wheezy cough. Steve rolled his eyes. "Right. Because that one week I left you alone in the house I didn't come back to find the kitchen on fire. I must just be remembering things wrong." He grabbed their book off the bedside table, flicking on the bedside lamp. It was like a little sun. A little weak sun. Doing its best, but the grass was still dying. "Where'd we leave off?" Steve slipped on his reading glasses. The frames were slightly bent. There was a fingerprint on the lens he didn't want to clean off. It was different from his own prints. He glanced at the bed over the top of his glasses. "It is a weird name. But-… No, I don't think it's a typical American one. How the hell should I know?" Steve gave a quiet sigh and settled in his chair. He began to read. "'What is a country? A country is a piece of land surrounded on all sides by boundaries, usually unnatural. Englishmen are dying for England, Americans are dying for America, Germans are dying for Germany, Russians are dying for Russia. There are now fifty or sixty countries fighting in this war. Surely so many countries can't all be worth dying for.' 'Anything worth living for-'" Steve blinked at the page. There were two little spots there. Little round spots. He furrowed his brow and curiously rubbed at his eyes. His hand came away wet. He stared at the tiny drops on his hand. "…Oh." He close the book and rubbed his eyes some more, trying to get rid of the evidence. "S-Sorry. I don't know what's come over me." The walls didn't really seem to mind. It was odd. He kept rubbing his eyes, but nothing seemed to be happening. In fact, it just seemed to be making it worse. He sat still for a moment. And it was quiet. Even quieter than their house. He'd hoped it would be something else. Something besides the walls breathing and kicking over random pieces of furniture and reading to himself. He tried to see the bed as just a bed again. But he'd lost that ability to deny. He buried his head in his hands, the walls continuing their steady breathing. "Wake up, Loki…" The book fell to the floor. But Loki didn't move, the respirator doing the breathing for him. Echoing against the yellow walls. Steve wanted to smash the machine to bits as he hunched over, fingers clutching helplessly at the comforter that was a part of this room now. Gray and sterile like the rest of this place. Like Loki had become without his green eyes to light up his face. Steve was so sick of crying. It made him feel weak. Even when there was no one else around. But the comforter turned black again wherever it grew damp. Black like it used to be. He tried to get himself under control, but the damn respirator was still wheezing at him and there were pins and needles stuck in his boyfriend's arms and a tube down his throat and bruises around his eyes and he hadn't heard his voice in three weeks and he was somehow terrified he'd already forgotten. So he needed Loki to wake up. Needed him to yell at him for being such a girl and punch him like he always threatened to. But Loki just lay there. Not yelling at him. Not punching him or laughing at him or teasing him and it was all Steve could do not to barricade himself in the closet-like bathroom until morning came and he could go. Because sitting here with just the machines and the walls and this dead thing on the bed to keep him company was nothing like their home where he could close his eyes and pretend to hear Lokk barreling down the stairs. Yelling at him from their room to make him a snack. Falling backwards onto the sofa in the living room… Here the only thing he could pretend was that Loki could hear him when he read aloud. That the machines weren't doing the breathing for him. That the arrhythmic beeping wasn't getting slower day by day. Steve wearily sat up, reaching out to hold onto his hand, begging, bargaining, pleading with any god that would listen. With anyone who would care. "Please, Loki…" The walls breathed. "Please wake up…"

October 9

"Lime again." Steve always delivered bad news with the most chipper face. "And stewed carrots." "Stewed carrots." Steve sat down in his chair and idly poked the so-called food on the tray. "That's what I said." Loki glared back as best he could. "…Mind if I ask you a few questions?" Steve blinked. "Uh… I guess not?" Loki pushed himself up as best as he could and sighed. "So I finally get the geriatric feedin' tube removed and get to move on to solids." He winced and shook his head. "God. 'Solids.' It's like I'm a child." "The food matches the personality. Finally." Loki glowered at his brother and crossed his arms over his chest. "Could we save the juvenile banter for-" "Juvenile? You sure you want to use that word?" Loki all but threw his hands up in the air. "I'm still bedridden, babe, and here you are insultin' me! I made a miraculous recovery-" "You accomplished what only fairy tale princesses have been able to: awaken from a coma by the power of true love's kiss." Loki gagged. "I'm goin' to vomit." Steve's eyes widened and he reached for the bucket stashed under the bed and Loki rolled his eyes and said piteously, "Fall back, Babe. Just an expression." Steve settled back in his chair, a light blush on his face as he hugged the bucket to his chest. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Next time I'll just let you be sick all over yourself." "You wouldn't dare," Loki said in a scandalized voice. "Try me." Loki rolled his eyes and settled back on the bed, picking at a loose thread in the gray comforter. "I bet you liked it better when I was asleep," he muttered. "You could have your vomit bucket all to yourself without fear of interruption." The room was quiet. Even the lonesome machines in the corner kept their opinions to themselves. Steve coughed lightly and picked up their book off the table, cradling it in his large hands. "Believe me, Loki. There was nothing I liked about you being asleep. …You snore." Loki groaned like he was supposed to and weakly swatted at his boyfriend's arm. "You're an asshole," he mumbled. "Probably groped me while I was in my coma. Pervert." "I'm not you," Steve muttered petulantly. "I have no latent necrophilia tendencies." There was another one of those silences that said that it was maybe too early to be joking about these things. But Loki was feeling so good – better than he had in months – and jesting with death came easier. So he laughed, the noise a quiet wheeze in his chest. "I always wondered about those fairy tales where some prince kisses a chick that's been near death for like, years," he said, settling against his pillow. "Her breath must have just been ghastly." "…I'm going to start reading now." Steve snorted. "C'mon, babe. Don't you want to talk about dead princesses?" "…'It seemed remarkable to Gregor that above all the various noises of eating-'" "Hey!" Loki protested, trying to snatch the book out of Steve hands. "Stop ignorin' me!" "'- their chewing teeth could still be heard, as if they had wanted to show Gregor that you need teeth in order to eat and it-'" "These sentences are too damn long," Loki complained, still swiping for the book. "The hell was this guy on?" "I don't know," Steve said patiently, although his eyebrow was twitching. "Now sit still. ''…and it was not possible to perform anything with jaws that are toothless however nice they might be. 'I'd like to eat something,' said Gregor anxiously, 'but not anything like they're eating. They do feed themselves. And here I am, dying!'" Loki poked morosely at his lime Jell-o. It wiggled obstinately at him. But lime Jell-o was better than a feeding tube. And a feeding tube was better than no need for one. And the leaves outside were bright orange and chipper and they made even the dull yellow walls look alive with sunshine. And so Loki picked up his spoon and began eating. And when Steve touched his arm and gave him a quiet smile, he stuck out his tongue and flicked a bit of the carrots at his massive forehead. And life, it seemed, was kind to him for one more day. One day closer to release. One day closer to home. And that, more than anything, more than even the look of shocked indignation on Steve's face, made Loki want to cry with joy. But he just ate his Jell-o, and rubbed at the spots where needles used to be. Only one book on the shelf.

October 17

Steve ran his hand down Loki's back as he dry heaved into the bucket, clammy hands desperately clinging to his shoulders. The ragged noises clawing their way out of Loki's throat made Steve shiver and want to be sick himself. Loki somehow managed to force himself upright and lunged for the glass of water on the table, almost knocking it over. He drank greedily for a few seconds, and Steve hoped that- Steve rubbed Loki's back again as he threw up into the bucket, grabbing the half-empty glass out of clammy hands so it wouldn't spill. He fought back a wave of disappointment and said as soothingly as he could, "You can't do that, Loki. Remember what the doctor said? Small sips. Little steps as a time." Loki sat up, pushing against Steve's shoulder for leverage and glared at him, his dark lips and eyes the only color on his face. "I don't need another damn lecture, Steve," he snapped, voice as strong as tissue paper. Steve just wordlessly shook his head and took the bucket to the bathroom, washing it out and giving Loki a few moments to collect himself before he returned. The bucket went back under the bed, and his hand went back to holding his boyfriend's. "I know it's frustrating," Steve said quietly, blue eyes flicking to the abandoned tray of food. "But you have to take it slowly." Loki gave a bitter laugh and tugged his hand out of Steve's grip. "I said I don't need another damn lecture," he spat out. "And don't preach to me about how 'frustrating' it is. At this point, I'd eat an entire goddamn plate of that green slop and be fuckin' ecstatic if I could keep it down for more than a minute." "The doctor said that small relapses would be normal with this new-" "I don't give a flyin' fuck what the damn doctor says!" Loki snapped. "I was this close, this close to bein' able to go home and he decides to switch my meds! If I didn't think you'd be such a goddamn pussy about it, I'd have you sue his ass for malpractice!" Steve just gave a quiet sigh, for once his temper not getting the better of him. "It's just for another week, Loki. Maher keeps brandishing your discharge papers like they're the Holy Grail. Believe me, if you're not gone by then she'll probably just drug you and dump your ass out on the sidewalk for me to pick up." Loki gave a tiny snort that meant that he wanted to laugh, but didn't want to show it. "She would do that, wouldn't she," he muttered, the anger bleeding out of his voice. The pale man flopped back on the bed and let out an angry groan. "I'm just so fuckin' sick of this place…" Steve glanced around the room, for once the barrenness of a place making his heart skip with joy. Loki's things were in boxes, stacked up like building blocks of little cities in the corner of the room. The bookshelf was bare, and when the door to the room opened a puff of wind would sweep little dust motes off the shelves and make them whirl and drift about in the small tempest. Anything and everything that was them was in those boxes, save for the comforter that was looking darker and healthier every day. But Loki said he wanted to burn it when they got home, and Steve didn't ask why. It wasn't really theirs any more. It belonged to this place, so it did not get a box to go home in. Loki was talking. Steve turned his attention away from the dust and the absence of books. "-and ice cream. You didn't move my comics, did you?" Steve snorted, reaching out to gently flick him on the forehead. "Please. I value my limbs staying where they are, thank you very much." Loki scowled and swiped at Steve's hand, but a moment later wormed back into the pillows, a satiated grin on his face. "Good. Glad to see my threats still hold water." "Water's about all they can hold," Steve deadpanned, and picked up their last book from the side table. He could feel Loki watching him as he flipped open to their page and just as he opened his mouth to begin reading, his boyfriend spoke. "Who made myths so much more real than life?" Steve glanced up from the page, his finger still marking the spot. "Pardon?" Loki waved distractedly at the book. "Myths. Gods turnin' girls into cows so they can fuck them. Women eatin' pomegranates and havin' to live in Hell because of it. Guys stabbin' their eyes out 'cause they screwed their moms… You gotta wonder why that stuff's more easily remembered than the mundane." Steve smiled softly. "The mundane is every day. It doesn't beg to be remembered." Loki turned slightly to stare up at him, an odd smile on his face as well. "…When I was little, I wanted to be-" "The Awesomer," Steve said in despair, groaning quietly. "You wore that damn cape all the time. I still haven't forgiven you for making me your arch nemesis. 'Doctor Dull'." Loki laughed, muffling the noise against his hand. "Yeah. That. It just seemed so… important." He covered his eyes with one pale wrist and gave a shaky sigh. "I just… I never thought I'd grow up and wish to be anythin' but special." Steve reached out and rested his hand over his boyfriend's. "Bet a career as Doctor Dull isn't looking so boring after all," he said lightly, trying to drag Loki away from that quiet place he would drift towards far too easily nowadays. "N-Nah…" Loki moved his hands to grin up at him, his expression wavering slightly. "Don't want to take your champion title away from you." Steve rolled his eyes and leaned forward to butt his forehead against Loki's. "Glad to know you can still be a jerk to me," he muttered, but the words held no malice. The dark red in Steve's vision faded as Loki closed his eyes. "Glad to know you can still be a total buzzkill." Steve pulled away, glancing down at their book again. "Last one." Loki pulled the comforter up to his chin. "The others?" "In their boxes." Loki gave a quiet sigh. "Okay. Last one." Steve slipped his glasses on. "'From its own wreck the thing it contemplates; Neither to change nor falter nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan! Is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This alone Life; Joy, Empire, and Victory.'"

November 15

Loki awoke, and he was alone. He sat up, blinking wearily in the darkness, the curtains drawn too tightly to let in even the smallest drop of moonlight pierce the veil. He flopped back down against the bed, but then immediately sat up again, his eyes wide. He felt the mattress beneath him with his disbelieving hand. He knew these sheets. They were red. A color he didn't have to see to know. But he was alone. He had to double check and make sure, but the other half of the bed was stone cold. Loki slipped out of bed, memory guiding him in the darkness as he grabbed the latch on the door and stepped out into the hallway. His bare feet and toes dug against the cool hardwood floors as he padded down the hall, thin hands trailing over the walls, counting the familiar doors. It was dark. But he was home. He walked down the stairs, skipping the last two as he always did, and he couldn't remember getting home. But there was a light on past the kitchen and it drew him close like a moth to a flame. The television in the living room was on, and a reading light as well, and all Loki could see of Steve was one of his feet sticking out past the couch, covered in those stupid wool socks he liked to wear. This particular sock was red and purple, and Loki couldn't think of two colors less suited for one another. He made his way into the living room and sat down on the coffee table and watched Steve sleep. It had been a long time since he'd seen him. Or had it? It could have been just last night and he simply might not remember. Steve stirred, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, and Loki tried to think of how he could have gotten here. Not in the living room. He wasn't that lost. In the house. Steve shifted again in his sleep, and then opened his eyes-a slit of blue behind the wheat blonde threads. He closed them again almost immediately as he yawned, socked feet stretching out in front of him before falling back against the sofa. He turned towards Loki, who was perched on the edge of the table, and slowly blinked. "Hello," Loki said. "Hello," said Steve. The house was quiet again for a moment before Steve sat up all the way, rubbing the back of his neck as he mumbled, "Time's it." Loki glanced around the room, but the spot on the wall that normally housed the clock was just a darker circle against the lighter wall. "No idea," he admitted, since he hadn't any. But Steve glanced at the VCR and grumbled again. "Four in the morning." He turned and raised an eyebrow at Loki before his face softened. "Hospital nightmare again?" he asked quietly. Steve frowned. "Maybe. What're those?" Steve looked startled for a moment but then he said slowly, "Those nightmares you get… where you're still stuck in the hospital. You always wake me up afterwards. …Are you feeling alright?" Loki checked. "Yes. I think so." Steve gave a quiet sigh and held out his arm. "Come here. You're acting off." Loki obligingly moved forward to worm his way between Steve and the back of the couch. He butted his head underneath Steve's chin like how they used to sleep before he'd gotten so sick. "…When did I-… when did I come home?" "Over half a month ago." Loki frowned. "I don't… remember…" He felt Steve sigh, the rumble of his chest as he spoke. "The doctor said you might have some… retention problems. But it shouldn't be permanent." "Retention problems," Loki repeated, splaying his pale hand against his chest. "Is that why my mind feels like a steel sieve?" Steve chuckled, and Loki felt the soft brush of lips against his forehead. "Probably." Loki sat still for a moment, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of his familiar house. "…So… Am I… am I better?" he asked quietly. Steve stopped breathing for a moment, and then let out a rush of air. "You really don't remember." Loki shook his head. "I told you," he grumbled, gently punching Steve in the stomach. "Ow. Use your words, Loki," he grumbled. "I can't keep track of whether or not you're playing the 'amnesia card' just to get me to buy you things." Loki grinned, his voice dispelling some of his anxiety. "Does it work?" Steve shifted uneasily, his blue eyes sliding shut. "…Of course it does." Loki laughed again, propping his elbow against the arm of the couch and resting his chin in his hand to stare down at Steve. He trailed a finger down the bridge of his boyfriend's nose, and Steve furrowed his eyebrows and halfheartedly glared up at him. "That tickles," he complained, but made no move to swat Loki's hand away. He snickered. "You always were a pushover, Darling. Didn't even have the guts to shove me away that first time I jumped you." Steve's face turned as red as the stripes on his socks and his eyes flicked to the side. "Y-You were drunk," he mumbled. "I know better than to try and get you to calm down when all the blood in your system has been replaced with forty proof alcohol." Loki moved his finger to trace his lower lip, green eyes raking over the other man's face. "…Are you sorry you didn't?" Steve reached out and grabbed his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the pads of his fingers. "Don't be an ass," he murmured, "You know rhetorical questions irritate me." Loki shivered as Steve's dry lips brushed over his palm. "W-Wasn't bein' rhetorical," he muttered. "You can be a hard guy to read." Long fingers buried themselves in Loki's hair as Ludwig pulled him close, his blue eyes strange in the dim light. "I've had enough of reading for a while," he said quietly, and Loki barely had time to roll his eyes in fond exasperation before his lips captured his own. There was no knock on the door. No tread of white shoes on tile. No IV lines tangling or brittle bones to break. Free of the cloying smell of antiseptic and the rattling in his lungs, the pain in his arm from where needles bit into flesh as he had tried to move freely and pretend to be normal again. They pulled away for air, Steve's chest heaving and Loki sat up a bit, licking his lips. He grinned and dug his fingers into his boyfriend's shoulders as he purred, "So… what are we doin' tomorrow?" Steve groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Don't tempt me, babe… We both have a lot of work to catch up on…" Loki just smirked. "Work, huh… wouldn't it be faster if we got it done… together?" All he got in response though was another weak glare, and he laughed. "What did I tell you? Total pushover," he drawled, tugging Steve's hand away from his face. "I'm surprised you-" He stopped, tilting his head to the side, his green eyes narrowed. "…You hear that?" Steve blinked, but remained silent. After a moment he glanced up at Loki, a worried frown toying with the corners of his mouth. "No… I don't… I don't hear anything." "It's a buzzin'," Loki said quietly, glancing around the room to try and locate the noise. "Tiny. Like a wasp caught in a jar…" The seconds ticked away silently, but Loki didn't move, his entire being focused on the isolated sound. Steve sat up, and Lokk obligingly let him, sitting on his lap with a small frown. He started a bit as Steve's hand grazed his cheek, and Loki turned to glance questioningly at him. Steve had a worried expression on his face, and his voice was low as he asked softly, "Where did you go just now?" "Go?" Loki smiled. "I don't go anywhere." He yawned and leaned forward to rest his head against his shoulder. "I probably just have a headache," he mused aloud. "Sometimes I hear buzzin' when my brain starts to-

October 24

Steve hoisted his bag and fought off a yawn. The arctic blast of air conditioning made him wince as he walked into the hospice, and he suddenly wished he'd brought his winter coat. Maybe Loki wouldn't be such an asshole this time and actually share his blankets. Steve nodded to the nurse at the reception and headed to his room. He pushed open the door and then stopped. The boxes were gone. And the shelf. And the comforter. He frowned and headed over to Loki's bed, plopping down in his chair. He reached out to tap him on the shoulder. "Lokes? Where's your stuff?" Loki just let out a weak groan and Steve's heart sank. He sounded awful. Steve moved to the other side of the bed and crouched down so he could see Loki's face, asking quietly, "What is it? Are you not-" Watery brown eyes glanced at him from under the covers and Steve staggered backwards, his heart in his throat. "S-Sorry…" he muttered, quickly picking himself up off the floor. He glanced at the lump underneath the covers and left the room. He let the door shut behind him and leaned against it, clutching his bag to his chest. The hospital traffic passed him by, a blur of white and blue. And pink. Steve followed the pink smudge until he caught up. He grabbed her arm and wrenched her around, and her clipboard and a few other things that were balanced atop went flying. Maher's face was as impassive as always as she glared at him, but Steve dragged her out of the flow of people and gurneys and IV stands and sickness and he gripped her arm even tighter. "Where is he." Maher's eyes just narrowed. She wrenched her arm out of Steve's grip and shoved her way through the mob to grab her things off the floor. Steve almost felt guilty. She walked back towards him, her back ramrod straight as she plucked a small cardboard box out of the pile of things in her arms and pressed it into Stevs's hands. He took the box, a questioning look on his face. Maher looked away. "…You asked where he was." Someone must have pulled the plug on the noise in the world. All that remained was static, and they'd just left the record spinning, spinning on the turntable, the needle poised above. Steve held the box in his hands and forced himself to look at it. There was a white label. The white label had black writing. Loki Laufeyson Steve had to read it twice, because he couldn't remember ever having seen those letters in that particular order before. And he had to double check. Loki Laufeyson ID Code# 2011200004367 TOD 24.10 A gentle touch on his arm pulled him away from the numbers and letters, and Steve glanced down to see Maher's face, the same as always for the briefest of moments before she broke. Tears rolled down her face as she clung to his arm, and suddenly the sound was back, the needle had fallen, and Steve could hear her crying. "H-He wouldn't let me call you," she sobbed, "I tried and tried but he wouldn't..." Steve was only dimly aware that his back was now pressed against the wall. All he could feel was the box in his hands. "…It's so light," he said quietly, turning the cardboard box over in his hands. He looked at Maher, not really seeing her, but going through the motions all the same. "His things?" Maher wiped at her eyes and shook her head. "Burned. All of them." Steve stared at the box again, his voice wavering slightly for the first time. "…Even his books?" "Burned." "…The comforter?" Maher shook her head. "Burned." Steve felt cold. "...Nothing left?" She made a quiet noise and then frantically fished around in the deep pockets of her scrubs for a minute before pulling out a battered looking envelope. She carefully set it down on top of the box, the nail polish on her fingernails chipped and broken. "I-I'll be at the front desk… if you need me," she said quietly, her voice shaking a bit. Then she left, her uniform a speck of pink among the whites and blues. Steve watched her go, the box growing heavier with every step she took. Don't leave me alone with it. He staggered to his feet and hurried down the hallway to the bathroom, where he bolted the door behind him and sank down to the floor. He sat perfectly still for a very long time, and the box grew heavier in his hands. It was too much. He had to shove it away. It skittered along the floor for a bit before tumbling to a halt. Steve stared at it, but the box did not stare back. Its four corners were each at ninety degrees. Its brown surface the same color all over. So plain. It looked nothing like him. Just a plain cardboard box. With a white label and black writing and a pile of ash inside. Ludwig stared at the box and then crawled forward to pick the thing back up. He held it against his chest as he glanced at the letter that had fluttered to the floor. He kept the box in his lap as he opened the envelope with an unsteady hand. His Loki's scratchy handwriting greeted him and Steve set the box lovingly aside, his mind completely blank. I'm sorry. There were a lot of lines scratched out. So many that the paper on the other side was blackened. I guess most people start these kinds of letters with some sort of campy shit about how much they're going to miss so and so or for their loved ones to not blame themselves and blah blah. But I was never one for convention. Right, babe? See, I decided a long time ago-right after we started reading that damn whale book (ugh) -what I wanted to have happen when this… happened. The worst part was the thought of you having to see me like that. You always looked so goddamn sad when you looked at me, and I didn't want you to have to see me one step worse, if you know what I mean. Corpse-like is one thing. Me as an actual corpse… no. Plus I didn't want to chance you going all Romeo and Juliet on me and trying to make it with my sexy yet sadly extinguished carcass in front of the whole morgue staff- Steve let out a choked noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, and furiously wiped at his eyes so he could keep reading. -and so I made sure to write in my will that I wanted to be cremated the moment I was gone. Like, the second that stupid machine flat-lines, bam. Into the oven with Loki. Didn't want my darling to have to see his boyfriend all sickly and nasty looking and dead in some goddamn hospital bed. It's not as pretty and clean as it is in those stupid-ass dramas. ...And I know this is gonna be hard, but I want you to burn everything at the house too. Everything that doesn't have value, of course. That shit you can sell. But things like my clothes, books, that stupid plastic cup I like to drink out of… I want all of it burned. The only thing I'll let you keep is the pictures. I even gave you one ahead of time, providing Maher remembered to stick it in the goddamn envelope like she was supposed to. Steve frowned and checked the envelope, and sure enough there was a picture inside. He carefully fished it out and studied it, the corners of his mouth pulling up slightly even as a few drops of water splattered onto the photograph. He absently brushed them away. It was a photo of them, of course. On the top of a mountain in Garmisch. He remembered that day. Loki had complained the entire way up the mountain, even though the water had been so blue. Robin's egg blue. And the canyon was cold and the spray made the rocks shine like they were flecked with glass. They'd walked up and up. Past huge sprawling plains with cows lazily meandering about, black and white whales in a sea of green. Past huge trees that framed the distant, snow capped mountains, making them look like pictures in a cheap hotel room. Past the tiny cabin at the end of the switchback path that sold bottles of beer and soda and little sandwiches that looked like they'd been made a decade ago. At the very top of the mountain, beyond the little tourist hut, the trees had suddenly ended, and there was a meadow. A thousand different flowers and grasses, and not another soul in sight. There was a tiny cabin, obviously abandoned, but Loki had eagerly peered through the windows, and claimed he could see a chair with a book on it. And a pipe that was still smoking. Steve had ignored him and set about taking pictures, Loki twirling in the background and singing very off-key about the hills being alive with the sound of… something. He couldn't remember. But then Loki had suddenly grabbed the camera and propped it up on the jagged wooden steps. He fiddled with some buttons before grabbing a very disgruntled Steve and forcing him to sit down in a small clearing, the mountains looming in the background. Steve barely had time to assess what was going on before Loki was next to him and drawing him into a long, involved kiss. Steve's eyes had slid shut automatically and his hand went up to bury in his hair. Until he heard the camera shutter click. He'd proceeded to try and shove Loki away, his face on fire, but he had just snickered and said it was too little too late. The fight had progressed from there, until they were both lying in the small clearing, chests heaving as they struggled to stop laughing. Loki had blamed it on the thin oxygen. Steve had blamed it on Loki. They'd taken the ski lift back down the mountain. The fare had come from Loki's wallet. The picture in the envelope was one of the last ones the camera had taken. They'd had to throw out quite a few that just showed the very edges of their figures as Steve chased after Loki, bellowing to give him back his reading glasses or so help him he was going to shove the albino down the mountain and save them both the trouble. The picture just showed them both sitting in that clearing. Loki's arm was draped over his shoulder, and he was grinning broadly and obviously in the middle of lecturing him about having fun or public displays of affection or removing the stick from his ass, and Steve was staring at the older man with a look of what was most likely supposed to be feigned boredom on his face. And would have looked the part, too, if it hadn't been for the hint of a smile playing about his lips. And they were both dusty and dirty and the picture was slightly out of focus and a bit overexposed- Steve brushed a few more drops off of the picture as he picked up the letter again, keeping it a safe distance away so he wouldn't ruin it as he continued to read. …like she was supposed to. You remember Garmisch. Or as I like to call it, 'Steve's self inflicted death march of shame'. I just never thought you'd go to such painful lengths to punish me. That's what you were doing, right? You know how me and the outdoors get along. Part of me wanted to throw myself into that creepy radioactive river and just be done with it. …But as always, you made it impossible to hate anything we were doing. I tried my damndest to be a brat that day, you know. Just to make you give up and turn around. Like that time we went to Salzburg and you tried to make me visit Mozart's house but I said I'd rather go back to the Criminal Museum in Rothenburg and be shoved in that iron maiden for a few weeks than go in, but somehow we ended up inside and I found those machines they used to use to make the sound effects for operas. You remember? And I made that kid cry and those mothers weep and it was the best damn part of the entire trip. I want to say something selfish like 'Never go back to those places again'. Because I don't want you to have new memories of them. Memories where I'm not in them. I guess that's why I'm letting you keep the pictures too, even though I know you'll probably be a terrible boyfriend and ignore my last wish and probably end up keeping everything and moping for months on end like some tragic Greek heroine. But I'm letting you keep the pictures for the same reason I ordered myself to be well flambéed by the time you get to the hospital. Because that's how I want you to remember me. The me in those pictures. That's when I was happy. I guess that's why I kissed you that first time too, although I was way too smashed to really remember the details. I was just… happy. And that's all I really wanted to tell you, I guess. To not be sad. Because you made me a hell of a lot of things other than happy. Pissed off. Sarcastically amused. Exasperatedly fond. Irritated beyond belief. So angry I wanted to rip your liver out and force feed it to you. …Ashamed. But you never made me feel sad. So I was kind of hoping to return the favor. I don't know how long I've been here. Hell, I could go tomorrow for all I know. But what I do know is that you will never break your promise. Every day. Right? Every day until I either get better and can burn this note with all the vindictiveness I can muster. Or until the day you read this. And if you are reading this, then you probably have… well, what's left of me. Kind of sad isn't it? I thought about going with one of those spiffy urn things, but I don't want you to keep what's left of me around for long. You don't need that kind of reminder. …But if it's not too much trouble, I do have one last thing to ask of you, and then I swear I'll stop making ridiculous demands from beyond the grave. And yeah, it was sobering as fuck having to write that. You don't have to do this. But if you ever end up going to that place again… the place in the picture… that's kind of where I'd like you to leave me. You remember the cabin, right? The one with the chair and the pipe that only I could see? You can leave me there. I liked that place. It was worth the death march up. That picture has been the only thing keeping me from just… pulling the plug. Metaphorically, of course. I think if I ripped off these stupid sticky things on my chest the most that would happen is that I'd lose a layer of skin and then have to go around with circle shaped scabs on my chest. Very attractive. And I'd ask that you burn this letter, but I know that just reading that line probably made your weak-ass heart go all a pitter-patter with anxiety, so I'll spare you. Just like how I'd ask that you sell Groβvatti's house and use the money to pay off your stupid school loans. But I won't ask you to do that either. I've asked enough of you. Too much. The rest of the sheet was blank. And Steve had a brief moment of panic as he rifled through the pages, trying to find something else Loki had written. Anything else. He almost missed it. The words were tiny, and crammed into the bottom corner on the back of one of the pages. But it was still Loki's handwriting. Still barely legible and smudged beyond belief. Thirty words crammed into the corner of a page. And no words had ever made him cry more. I could never tell you this in life, Steve. But death makes all of us braver. I love you. Every day I live, I always will. I promise. -Loki 

November 15

"The climb up this time wasn't nearly as bad as I remembered. Probably because I didn't have you hanging off my arm half the time, trying to get me to pull you up." Steve glanced around at the small meadow, eyes carefully avoiding the small clearing. He set the cardboard box down on the rickety steps of the cabin. "Not nearly as impressive during fall though," Steve muttered, pulling his scarf tighter around his face. "Amazed it isn't snowing yet." He glanced up at the window of the dilapidated cabin, and after only a moment, gave in. He clambered up on a small rock halfway buried in the earth next to the house and peered inside. He gave a quiet laugh and hopped back down, heading over to the cardboard box. "You were right," he said grudgingly, "There is indeed a chair. A pipe, too. Although it wasn't smoking. But it… it might have been." Steve fell silent, and for a long time the only sound rushing over the meadow was the wind. Cold and unrelenting with no trees to tame it. Steve picked up the box and opened it with calm deliberation. He carefully picked up the bag that held his lover's ashes, and felt the cold burn his face even more as a few quiet tears streamed from his eyes. He gave a pathetic laugh and scrubbed at them with his gloved hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured, still laughing brokenly. "I know I promised you I wouldn't cry, but… but you're in a bag, Loki. A plastic bag like the ones we have at home that we put our sandwiches in to bring up to this goddamn mountain. …The ones… I have. Only a little over a year ago when you were here with me and I wasn't standing on the top of a mountain alone and talking to myself like a crazy person." His voice rose abit on the last part, and echoed dully against the mountains towering in the distance. "…I wish I had been brave enough for the both of us." Steve pressed his hand against his eyes, and smiled bitterly. "I wish I still had you with me. And I wouldn't care how much you'd mock me. I'd still tell you. Every day until you got sick of it. Every day until you knew it was okay to say it as well. Every day I visited you. Every day I woke up with you beside me, I'd have told you." Steve let his hand fall to his side, and stared at the bag for a moment. His fingers suddenly moved to untie the small piece of twine holding the bag closed. He undid the knot, and held the bag in his hands as the ashes ebbed and flowed with the biting wind. The bag grew smaller and smaller in his hands, the wind tugging and coaxing his boyfriend's remains to follow it, until there was nothing left but a few fragments of bone. Steve let the fragments fall to the ground where they clattered about for a moment before falling quiet, indistinguishable from the thousands of bleached rocks that lay scattered about the field. In death we are brave. Steve carefully folded the bag and placed it back inside the box. The box went inside his bag. His bag went on his back. Steve turned around and returned the way he came, the wind buffeting his hair and caressing his cheeks. And Steve tried to remember what it had been like before. When there had been flowers in the meadow, and cows like lazy sharks patrolling the grass on the mountain. And rivers of eggshells and his Loki's laugh and the pipe in the cabin that let off little tendrils of musty smoke. But all that remained was the wind. And little fragments resting atop the earth. And him. So he left. And all that remained was the wind and the bones.

February 22

"This is the one you want?" Loki nodded and glanced nervously about the room. "Sure," he said quietly, his voice a mere skeleton of itself. "Anything." Steve gave him a reassuring smile, but picked up the book without comment. "Where should we start?" he asked, flipping the huge tome open and glancing at the table of contents. "There's an appendix. An introduction-" "The beginning is always good," Loki said, his voice exasperated, but somehow a bit more like himself, even in this odd place. So Steve opened the book to page one, and began reading from the beginning, holding Loki's trembling hand in his own. "'Call me Ishmael,'" Steve read, his lips quirking up into a smile at the look of forced boredom already settling in on Loki's face. He gave him hand a gentle squeeze as he quietly whispered, "Be brave, babe. We'll get through this." All he got in response was a baleful stare, but the pale hand gripped his just a bit tighter. Steve smiled and continued reading, his voice echoing to the empty rooms beyond. "Whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet… then I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can…'" The steady voice muted by a pitch black comforter on the bed. Twenty five books on the shelves. The yellow wallpaper. Quiet bones in the earth. The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so sorry. I'm crying as I write this, you're probably crying as you read this. Or at least trying not to, if you're brave enough. It's okay to cry. I feel mostly bad I've killed my sweet son.....but this had to be done. I toyed around with the ending A LOT to see anything I could do but it eventually came right back to this. Complimentary therapy will come in the form of loving replies and cute animal pictures if you need. As always, my name is Oliver, have a good life, I'll see you the next heart wrenching fix I spew


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